


Leave Out All The Rest

by Edge_of_Clairvoyance



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Corporal Punishment, Domestic Discipline, Family, Family Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Series, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Punishment, Spanking, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Weechesters, Young Sam Winchester, post-spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 06:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12743070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_Clairvoyance/pseuds/Edge_of_Clairvoyance
Summary: The words died in Dean's mouth and he dropped his head, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. What was he crying about, anyway? Some dumb crap his stupid-ass kid brother blurted out in the midst of some damned tantrum?But Sam wasn't stupid. And he wasn't having a tantrum.





	Leave Out All The Rest

**Author's Note:**

> There's a little bit of reference to a parental spanking (which isn't in the story), if it may disturb, please don't read.
> 
> The title is a song by Linkin Park.

Dean sat on the hood of the Impala, eyes trained on the door of the motel room, fingers tapping on his knee. It wasn't any specific tune he was drumming; he wasn't able to concentrate on music right now, not with Sammy having his ass handed to him behind that closed door.

He straightened up when the door opened, slid off the hood and waited for his father to draw near. Dad looked tired and even a bit defeated. Fighting with Sammy would do that to you, even if the squirt was barely eleven and a half and as tiny as a sparrow.

"So, I need to go see the man about that lead, be back in a couple of hours," Dad said in a raspy voice.

"Okay."

"I'll pick up some dinner, so don't bother cooking."

"Yes, sir."

Dad looked back at the closed door of the room, and then sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "I hate this, damn it. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't let me hold him afterwards. Christ, I didn't even spank him all that hard, he'll be sitting down just fine for breakfast tomorrow."

Dean could have told him that "not that hard" by John Winchester's standards wasn't necessarily the same by Sam's, who barely had any cushioning meat on that scrawny ass of his. And anyway, it was more about the humiliation than the pain. But he just said, "I'll talk to him."

Dad smiled a weary little smile, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. Then he climbed into the car and drove off. Dean let out a breath and turned toward the motel room.

The main curtains were open but the secondary, sheer curtains were shut, filtering the bright sunlight into cozy, soft glow. Sammy was lying on one of the beds, head buried in his arms, shoulders shaking. He was weeping so quietly that Dean almost couldn't hear it, but he didn't need to hear his brother's crying in order for his insides to clench so painfully.

Dean toed off his boots and went over to the bed. He sat down near Sam and passed a hand on his shaggy head. Sammy flinched, raised a teary face, and realized it was Dean. He then scrambled onto him so fast, Dean only just managed to settle himself on the bed with his back propped up against the headboard before he found his arms full of upset little brother.

Sammy curled on Dean's lap, shaggy head tucked under his chin, thin arms wrapped around his ribs, burrowing desperately into him. Dean hugged him close and felt the sobbing starting over again. He didn't try to talk, didn't try to make Sam calm down. The kid needed to get it out.

Eventually, the weeping subsided, and at last there were just snuffled breaths. Sammy didn't move, and neither did Dean.

"I hate him," Sam said at last, his voice quivering.

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You really don't."

"You don't know anything."

"Maybe," he let the fingers of one hand rake slowly through Sammy's hair. "So tell me."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"You can't _do_ anything."

"That's not true, now, is it? I can make pancakes, I can drive, I can shoot guns, I can lift you over my head, I can run faster than Batman-"

Sam huffed. "You can't run faster than Batman."

"Sure I can, dude, the man can't run, that's why he drives the Batmobile everywhere," Dean could feel Sammy smiling against his chest, and he smiled, too. "So don't you go around sayin' your awesome big brother can't do anything."

"I meant you can't do anything about Dad."

"Because you won't tell me what's wrong."

Sammy shifted a bit on his lap. One hand crawled to the front of Dean's shirt and fisted into the fabric. Dean waited, fingers still raking through Sam's hair.

"I like the school here," ah. He should have known.

"Anything special you like about it?"

"There's an essay contest, it's a reginal contest, I already made it through the first screening and they'll enter my essay into the all-school stage next."

"Sammy, that's awesome! How come you didn't tell me?" Dean moved him a bit to look into his face. Sam smiled up hesitantly, then snuggled back into his former position.

"I wanted to wait until I got into the final stage, so it'll be like a surprise, you know?" There was a short pause, and then, in a lower voice, "but it's not gonna happen now, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we're moving again, aren't we? I saw how Dad is getting on with the research and the interviews and the phone calls. He's almost ready for the next job."

Dean sighed. "Is that why you're throwing this attitude at him these last few days?"

"I'm not throwing attitude at him."

"The hell you ain't, dude. Seriously, calling him a bastard anywhere within earshot? That's not even stupid, that's goddamned _suicidal_. And anyway, did you really think bitchfaces and sulky comebacks are what's gonna get you anywhere with the old man?"

"Dunno," Dean could feel him shrugging.

"Yeah, you do know. You're smarter than that, Sam, c'mon. Why didn't you say anything instead of grating on his nerves till he snapped?"

"Because he wouldn't have listened, okay?" Now the tears returned to Sam's voice and Dean automatically tightened his arms around him. "He didn't listen when I talked about the new school, not once! He just pretended he did so I wouldn't nag him. He doesn't care! And I hate him!"

Dean started to say "no, you don't" again, and then didn't. The squirt had a point there; he could see that Dad was more concerned with the coming job than with them, and it was fine with Dean, it really was; but it wasn't fine with Sammy, and Dean mentally kicked himself for not noticing this earlier. If Dad wasn't there for Sam, then Dean should have been, and he clearly wasn't, because he was sitting there on his stupid ass trying to comfort a little runt that just wanted to take part in some lousy essay contest.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," Dean said at last.

"What for?"

"For not paying enough attention and not realizing that you were bitchin' because something was bothering you."

Sam moved away so he could stare up at Dean. "What?"

"I'm sorry-"

"Dean, this is all Dad's fault, why do you think it's yours?"

"Dad has a lot on his mind, I only have to have you on mine."

Sam was wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open. "Why are you doing this?" He asked, slowly.

"Doing what?" Dean didn't like what he saw in Sammy's eyes. It looked too much like loathing.

"Taking the blame for him. Trying to make him the good guy. Everything that's happened, and you're freakin' _defending_ him!"

"What? Sammy-"

"No!" Sam scrambled off Dean's lap, winced when his butt hit the mattress, nearly fell off the bed and finally managed to get to his feet. Dean set up, shocked, and yeah, a bit scared, too; because Sam was standing there, chest heaving, fists clenched, practically _glowering_ at him. Dean started to move, and Sam took a step back.

"Sammy, listen to me-"

"Why should I? You're just lying to me!"

"I'm not lying to you," he tried to move again, and Sammy took another step back. "Damn it, Sam, calm down and-"

"Leave me alone!" Before Dean could even blink, Sam bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame.

For a few minutes, all Dean was able do was stare at the closed door, mouth gaping. Where the _hell_ did all of this come from?! One moment Sammy was a teary kitten curled up in his arms, and the next he became a hissing wildcat. Dean had no idea what just happened, but he did know one thing: it was his fault. Again.

Slowly, Dean got off the bed and walked to the bathroom door. He stood there, trying to breath as quietly as he could so as to hear what was happening on the other side. The thin wood allowed sounds quite willingly, and even though Sammy was trying to keep his voice down, Dean could hear the weak, muffled whimpers and an iron band tightened around his ribs.

"Sammy?" He called, softly. "C'mon, Sammy, open the door."

"Go away," came the strangled reply.

"Whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just please-"

"You don't even know what you did! You don't know anything! You just do what _he_ tells you to, and you justify everything _he_ says, and you only watch me because _he_ wants you to, but you don't really care!"

Dean opened his mouth but no sound came out. His heart was beating so hard it practically made his body shake. He wanted to yell at Sam to cut the crap

_Watch out for Sammy_

to break the door down and beat some sense into the damned kid

_Take care of your little brother, boy_

But his body was numb and his vocal cords were frozen and his brain was screaming at him that Sam was right, he was Dad's little mindless soldier, his blunt instrument, his grunt; he did whatever Dad told him to do, he justified whatever Dad said, and he-

_Watch out for Sammy_

Did he take care of Sam because Dad ordered him to?

_Take care of your little brother, boy_

No, it wasn't true. Couldn't have been

_Watch out for Sammy_

He took care of Sammy because he _wanted_ to

_Take care of your little brother, boy_

Didn't he? _Didn't he_?

The bathroom door swam before his eyes, and he put his palms flat against it, as if this could hold it in place. His hands were shaking and as much as he tried to breathe, he didn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. His legs were failing under his weight, and he let himself slowly sink to his knees, fingers trailing on the door as he went down.

The low sounds from inside the bathroom stopped. There was silence on both sides of the door.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded tiny and wavery to his own ears. "You're right, you're… yeah, I do what he tells me to, and he does tell me to look after you, but it's not… it's not like that, Sammy, you know it, don't you? It's not… shit, I don't… I just…"

The words died in his mouth and he dropped his head, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. What was he crying about, anyway? Some dumb crap his stupid-ass kid brother blurted out in the midst of some damned tantrum?

But Sam wasn't stupid. And he wasn't having a tantrum.

He breathed in, exhaled, breathed in again. The silence from the inside of the bathroom lingered.

The door moved against his palms, slowly and cautiously. He let his hands fall away from it, but didn't raise his head. Just stayed there on his knees, staring at the floor, still blinking the tears away.

And then there were thin arms around his shoulders, and a small, warm body pressing into him.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered. "Dean, I'm so sorry, Please, don't be mad at me. I didn't mean any of this, I don't know why I said it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Dean, please?"

Something melted inside Dean, like snow under the sun. His arms rose by themselves to wrap around Sam, to hold him closer, to _feel_ him closer. He closed his eyes, the tears finally spilling out, and buried his nose and mouth in Sam's hair. He smelled of that ridiculous mint shampoo he insisted Dean would get for him, and a tinge of childish sweat and that scent of his, the scent that was warm and home and _Sam_. And as Dean breathed that scent in, his doubts suddenly seemed so foolish and irrelevant.

He knew why he was caring for his little brother the way he did, and it had nothing to do with Dad's orders.

He smiled into Sammy's hair that smelled like ridiculous mint shampoo. "You know the rule, dude. No chick flick moments."

"I know," but Sam didn't let go, and neither did Dean. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> Like my works? Want to subscribe and get updates on new stories? Make sure you subscribe to the **user** and not the specific work!


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